The Scent of Roses and Devotion
by NotMarge
Summary: An extended look at "Four Roses" from a different perspective.
1. Voices in the Dark

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!

Scent of Roses and Words of Devotion

Chapter 1: Voices in the Dark

* * *

I drifted through my waking dream state. My world was dark and without form. Sounds and smells of the hospital floated through me though none of them garnered my interest or attention. Feelings drifted in a haze over me as well. Sadness, loneliness, depression, hope.

I do not know how long I have been here. Time comes and goes, as do other more ambulatory, more conscious people. I linger on and no one can ascertain why. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I wake. Sometimes I move. Sometimes I am still.

The quiet, soothing voices of the nurses speaking to each other fed me the knowledge that a new patient lay in the bed next to mine. A Miss Mina Murray.

Ah, yes. I know of her. Her lovely pale face framed by dark wavy hair swam through my dim memories. She made rounds with the physicians. She wished to, one day, work as one of them. A female doctor, what a fantastic ambition.

Two gentile male voices drifted in from the left of me. Their voices revealed the care and affection they felt love for this woman as they stood watch over her repose.

An older man, I assumed to be her father. A familiar voice, it was. Perhaps a physician within the hospital? He smelled of pipe tobacco and gentlemanly mannerisms. He radiated protective love toward the woman in the bed.

A younger, less self-assured voice there was as well. It very nearly trembled with weight of his emotions but some of them were wrong. Care for the woman, yes, but also an undercurrent of concern for himself and his own affairs. His emotions were less constant, less committed. His spirit conflicted. This one I did not care for so much.

The two voices conversed in hushed tones as to the condition of their lady. Injuries which appeared to be superficial and would easily heal. The older man reassured the younger of her complete recovery with time. They exchanged a brief discourse as to who could have attacked her.

My interactions with her had been limited due to my wavering state. Enough so that I had observed her manners and poise exceptional, her compassion evident in her gentle eyes. Who ever could wish her harm?

Those keeping watch over her apparently could not ascertain the answer to that query any more than I in my forlorn condition.

Sharp, tapping steps of a gentleman's shoes cut through the ministrations of her present guardians in the room, advancing quickly and with purpose.

"Will she recover?"

My mind instantly latched onto this third male voice. It was different. It spoke quietly and calmly as had the others while also wrought with sweeping concern and undying devotion for her in the bed.

The moment I heard it, I knew. This was the one who loved her the most. Deeply, fully, absolutely. This was the one who would raze all of Heaven and Earth for her in the bed.

The father voice reassured this newcomer as well. Yet there was also a slight withdrawal from the father voice. But why? This new voice was of he who truly loved her, was it not?

And the tension emanating from the presence of him with the younger voice intensified until I nearly choked on the acerbic thickness of it.

A quiet exhalation of delicate breath marked the awakening of the woman in the bed. And a deluge of relief flooded out from all the men keeping watch over her. A tidal wave of it flowed from he who truly loved her. It spread over me as the warmth of the sun peeking out from the clouds on a chilly day.

The younger voice, the conflicted one, spoke her name first. His murmur whispered relief and perhaps an undercurrent of guilt.

The voice of he who truly loved her inquired softly, "Who did this?"

But why would he ask a question to which he already knew the answer? And he did know. It was there, in his voice.

"Mina, it's important. You must tell us everything," he gently demanded of her.

So that he may exact terrible vengeance upon them. Yes, he would. They would rue the day they had been born. His love for her would destroy them all.

The younger presence threw an intense lemon shard of bitter jealousy toward he who truly loved her. But so adamantly focused was he on her plight and well-being that the absinthian dagger was rendered harmless in the face of his fealty. Should not the younger man have been so devoted as well? Why waste such precious energy on jealousy when his real focus should have been to her in the bed?

Quietly, she spoke of her ordeal. Three men attacking her. Restraining her on a table. A bottle of acid. A man with a birthmark. The choking tendrils of her lingering fear crept down the edges of bed and out across the room. Her ability to calmly recount the details of her attack was most impressive. If ever I recovered from my debilitating malady, I resolved to live as strong and bravely as her, this courageous young woman.

Wet, dripping, red rage pulsed within the heart of he who truly loved her. He would gift the miscreants responsible with a painful death in exchange for this traumatizing experience. I harbored no doubt. There would be no reprieve, no mercy for them. None whatsoever.

Crushing realization and penitent grief flooded out in waves of nauseating green sickness from the younger voice as it whispered 'police'. Detaching himself from her, he exited the room quickly.

Much to her trembling dismay. Why was he abandoning her? She needed him. Well, not really. Not with the comforting presence of the one who truly loved her. But she must have thought she did because her voice called out heartbreakingly to the departing man. But he was gone.

The presence of the one who truly loved her departed abruptly as well. But I felt no concern. He would return to her and care for her. No matter the cost.

The voices of the arguing men echoed faintly in the hall as my spirit reached out to the woman in the bed. I desired nothing more that to awaken and speak to her. Tell her the one who truly loved her would return. Reassure her that he would always return to her.

But I could not. My waking dream state left me helpless to comfort her. It must fall to him.

And he would return for her. He would always return for her.

* * *

**Everybody loves feedback, including me. Leave a review if you like.**

**Thanks to manaradel98 and XvideogamegirlX for your support.**


	2. Senses of Truth

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!

Scent of Roses and Words of Devotion

Chapter 2: Senses of Truth

* * *

Roses. The smell of roses. Sweet, red roses.

And yellow fear. Digging vicious rows of sharp, biting teeth into the woman in the bed to my left. The Miss Mina Murray. Would that I could awaken, reach out my hand to her, and quell her yellow fear. But I could not.

But there was one who could. And would. And did.

He who truly loved her arrived sometime in the night, remaining near as she slumbered. At first, his aura pulsed with slashes of dripping black and red. But as he sat quietly, keeping watch over her in his devotion, the swirling colours slowed and calmed into gentle waves of quiet, serene, dark blue. Maybe it was the soothing rhythm of her even breathing. Maybe it was the quiet of the sleeping room. Maybe it was just her, alive and close, though as of yet, unaware.

When the warmth of morning's first light began to touch the high reaches of the room, he departed as he had arrived. Only the tapping of his shoes betrayed his presence. And the rich, red smell of roses. A symbol of his tenderness and devotion. A testament to his adoration of her inner beauty and goodness. As if his love steadfastly remained when he could not, lingering on in the shadows just beyond the reaches of the light.

His departing movements awakened her and quickened her breath on the second morning. Her radiant voice caressed the air around him like the soft, feathery wings of an angel enveloping a penitent sinner in merciful absolution.

"They're from you."

He who truly loved her sighed quietly. He did not wish her to discover that it was he visiting her, keeping a protective watch of love over her. And yet, at the same time, he did. Otherwise, he would not have been caught so close to his departure.

Her melodic voice caressed the black nerves of his esoteric soul as rich silk to a soft cheek. Her voice alone affected him so that it was a wonder that sight of her did not melt his bones into pools of shimmering liquid.

"Yes."

A quiet confirmation of his undying love, adoration, and commitment. He was indeed, the one who truly loved her.

"I thought . . . I thought . . . Jonathan . . ."

Ah, yes. Jonathan Harker. I had heard talk of him as well. Him with the trembling voice and inconstant spirit. They were engaged to be married. And yet. A yawning gulf stretched between the name she spoke and the love that should have been closely connected to it.

"No."

I felt his essence, so aching to be free of constraint, stretch out toward her even as no sound bespoke a physical movement. The yearning was deep and intense, as a parched man in the dry desert so desires a drought of cool, clean, refreshing water. It made me thirst in my waking slumber.

"You were there." A statement, not a question.

Quiet there between them as the warming feel of light crept in on little cat's feet. A hasty construction of shielding walls? A moment to breathe in her beauty?

"Where?"

Such carefulness of the question. Though he knew exactly that of which she spoke. And she knew that he knew. It was all so obvious. Even to a wakeful sleeper such as me.

"You stopped those men."

Another absolute statement. No questions at all. She had no need for questions. Not just yet.

"Don't think about it. Ever."

Iron bars of protective energy he flung up at the shared images within their heads. The same memories. The same experience from different sides of the tale.

"None of those men will ever touch you again."

He had destroyed them. The ones who had attacked her. Sharp, deadly, black knives of hatred stood sentry around her precious form. No one would ever harm this woman to whom he was absolutely devoted.

"I know."

Yes, she did know. Whether she had seen it during the attack or saw it in his eyes now, she knew the truth. And she did not damn him. She was grateful.

"Whatever you think happened, didn't happen. I wasn't there. I was at Carfax."

An unconvincing lie. For his own protection. For hers. For the both of them.

"No. No, you were there."

She would not be denied the truth. The purity of her spirit reached out, stroking his blue aura, accepting it as was offered to her. And for a moment, that dark blue bathed in the white light. Then it turned away.

"I have to go."

Regretful resolution bowed its head and hid its face like a petulant, punished child.

Why did he flee the rising sun? Did he fear it would it reach into his soul and pull out the darkness there, revealing it for all to see? All that he had done, black though it might be, had been done in love of her.

"Please," she softly requested. "Please, will you stay? A little longer."

The sun continued to warm the room. I yearned to awaken fully and walk in its warmth and light. Perhaps today would be that day.

"I can't," he responded after a long, conflicted moment. "You don't know how much I want to. I can't."

Their deep craving for continued companionship made me hunger desperately for something lost that I could not quite reach.

"I'm sorry."

Deep purple regret chased at his heels as he quickly departed her presence. But the red smell of roses remained. Now there were two.

* * *

**I was just hypnotized by the interaction between these two here. And just so you know, in this very same situation, my hair would never look that good. Like, not ever. ;)**

**Thanks to PreppyVampire for your support!**


	3. Murmured Confessions to a Dreaming Soul

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!

Scent of Roses and Words of Devotion

Chapter 3: Murmured Confessions to a Dreaming Soul

* * *

Fitful in my waking slumber, I recall the first sweet, red hints of the gifted roses.

He arrived quietly in the night and murmured to her in his true voice. A deeper, richer voice. Stroking the air with gentle, tender fingers of secretive whispers. A voice he granted this space only once. To lay bare his soul to her. And oh, the words he had spoken. Alighting quietly, tenderly upon her, as gentle kisses breathed upon her brow, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips.

"You asked me to tell you the truth. Made me promise."

A pause. Secret words tarrying just behind his lips, arranging themselves in an orderly queue, as those approaching a confessional. Taking this one chance to experience freedom, the freedom of her light. Just this once when no one else may hear or see. Float down and caress her restful countenance, bathe her in honest affections as she slept.

"And I'll tell it to you now."

The words were ready. Still, he made them wait. Hesitant to speak this to her, even in her sleep. Would she hear him within the void of her deep repose? Would she remember? Was he safe to utter these confessions? Or was it simply so very difficult to confess what he had been trying to deny even to himself for such a long time?

"Nothing has been the same since first I saw you."

In a golden ballroom, perhaps? Eyes meeting across an open space? All around them fading out as the images of one another sharpened in clarity? Sudden sparks of attraction, nay even, the recognition of time-bound souls? I have heard it whispered that with true love that is how it happens. I have yet to experience it, but it must be true. It spoke in his voice, gliding out of his soul on zephyrs of fond remembrance.

"You're a magic beyond my understanding. "

A hopeful pause. Was he searching her face for wakefulness? Or simply endeavoring once again to solve the mystery of her puzzle? Gathering more words to offer up now whilst she remained unaware? Before time passed and this moment was no more?

"I know it's impossible. But you are Ilona come back to me."

She had left him? Surely not. One would never willingly separate from a love such as this. Nor would any ordinary thing be strong enough to keep them apart. For certain, must have been some villainous devilry which brought it to pass. Only something greatly evil and insurmountably wicked would dare tear apart the devotion these souls held for one another.

"But you're more than that."

So much more. Oh, would that I meant the whole of the cosmos to one person so devoutly. Just one.

"You're Mina, too."

Desire radiated out from his yearning heart. Desire for her to simply know his feelings. Desire to walk freely in the sunlight of her beauty. Desire to openly love her and be loved by her without consequence. Desire to understand the miracle that had transpired to reunite their mortal forms.

"Now, I've tried to keep my feelings close."

Oh, how desperately he must have tried, to no avail. Constructing heavy stone walls of indifference, gentlemanly decorum. How his love for her must have glowed out from around the grey edges. Emanating from the center of his soul. How foolish to imagine something so powerful could be contained, hidden away while he yet drew breath.

"But I cannot."

A man so strong and capable. Yet so helpless in the face of the one he truly loved. Unable to hide his feelings away. Living in fear that they would be pulled out of secret alcoves in his soul and flung about for all unworthy masses to see. Did he fear in the end it would hurt her in some way?

"You make me want more than I could possibly have."

The smallest hint of resentment peeked out of his aching heart. The moment it did, his fervent love for her launched itself upon it, rending it to tiny shreds that fell to his feet in thin wisps of dissipating smoke.

A chuckling smile at his own folly escaped, exhaling quietly across the sleeping room.

"You make me want to walk in the sun."

But he did, did he not? He walked, ambled, strolled, in the light of her sun. Even now her pale, sleeping essence glowed out to him. Bathed him in rays of love that warmed him deep in the very marrow of his bones. The entire room was awash with it, even me, the silent witness.

"I belong to you."

A confession of devotion and love, flowing out of him, washing away her violation and mistreatment. Cleansing her so that she may once more rise as a purified angel to float among the Heavens where she truly belonged.

"And you belong to me."

A vow of offering. His absolute, everlasting devotion. A union of souls intertwined forever even across time and space. Never to be parted. He confessed it now. And I lingered there, an unseen witness to that affirmation.

A soft sound then, as skin to skin. More felt than heard. Did he dare to touch her, kiss her, when no one looked? Did he dare to stroke her silky cheek? Or perhaps her arm, her hand as she slept?

She remained still and did not stir. Her breathing even and calm. And yet, her soul was becalmed by his presence, his love. His quiet devotion chased away the demons that preyed upon her peace. They cowered from him. Hid their faces. Scuttled away. And remained so until his reluctant departure.

What beautiful words he had spoken from the depths of his heart. He thought no one could hear his confession, save her in her slumber.

But I could. I did. And I would never utter it to a soul. My gift to him. To her. To their eternal love. It was all I could give. I did so silently. Though they would never know.

I floated in my formless void, enveloped in the light of their enduring love.

And when he finally departed, he left in his wake, the smell of roses.

* * *

**If this gets any thicker, we may need to show up for the next chapter with cutlery, yeah? Well, that's just the way it is.**

**Thanks to Gillyhelbee, Ashes Mercy Tatum, and Little Viking Big Eyes for your support. Also, thanks to deelove1 for your reviews. You are all much appreciated!**


	4. The Spring of Hope

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!

Scent of Roses and Words of Devotion

Chapter 4: The Spring of Hope

* * *

Only that particular gait, approaching that particular lady, made that particular sound. I had come to listen for it whilst drifting inside my fitful, waking dreams.

And now it quietly resounded again within these lonely walls. He had appeared once more. His echoing footsteps slowed, stopping near her bedside. But not too near. Did he fear rousing her from her peaceful repose even as he achingly yearned for her treasured attentions? Beholding the depthless pools of her eyes, the gentle curve of her mouth smiling and speaking to him?

The red scent of sweet roses wafted stronger. He had come to offer yet another token of his enduring devotion to her, his enchanting angel. The roses themselves would fade in the days to come, but his love for her would outlast all the shining stars in the heavens.

She stirred. The lady stirred, her breath quickening in his presence. Of course, her soul surely counted the hours, the minutes until his return. But not the days, no, never the days. There was no need to count the days. For he returned each evening without fail. Returned faithfully. To her.

And why would he not? A man, any man, requires sustenance and water to live, air to breathe. And so it was the same with him. And yet, he required more. He needed her superlative spirit to render his existence worthy. He needed her to live. To be without her would surely mean his mournful end.

A pleased, slightly surprised exhalation of feminine breath broke the musings of the night. Yet not too surprised. She had known he would return to her. He would always return to her.

"You."

The fond affection of her voice bathed the room in warmth as it reached out for him. I reveled in it from my concious slumber.

"Yes. Me."

A simple declaration. Here. I am here for you. I will always be here for you.

"You keep coming back."

Her appreciative statement embraced him in thanksgiving. Exuded delight in his welcome companionship once again. Cherished his comforting presence in her darkness of uncertainty.

"I can't help myself."

This man, this helpless, hopeful man. He spoke his truth quietly, genuinely, a confession of his devotion. Lies and deceits died upon his lips, unable to bear the quiet light of her fair aura.

"I brought you another."

An addition to the growing collection of sweet red roses, offered up for her pleasure. Irrefutable evidence of his secret visitations. Undeniable proof of his eternal love.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

His carefully veiled heart, so full at her welcome response to him, swelled with emotions so that the air became thick with them. He must turn away from her glowing radiance or be seared by it. And so he attempted to refrain from catching fire by focusing on the austere reality of her condition.

"What happened?"

Moving briskly now, attempting to regain control of his wildly flitting dragonfly emotions. Soft scraping sounds on the floor. A chair, stationed close to her bedside. But not too close.

"Ah, I got lost."

Only a touch of sheepishness skittered through her words, followed by the acknowledgement and confidence of a cantering stallion. She knew exactly what she had been doing and why she had been doing it. And now that it was concluded, she accepted the responsibility fully.

Oh, to rise from my confines and live my life as she did. To be so assured and free.

"Doctor says you may have a concussion."

I felt a deep rush of adoration for these two souls. He loved her, cared for her troubling condition. However, there was no proffered pity for a weak woman condition. He respected and admired her strength, her resilience. He would not make her lesser for his own sake. And she, lovingly, expected no less, would accept no less from him.

"Yes."

No fainting spells or vapors for her. Not this one. She would not be vanquished so easily. She would recover and continue on. Into the living sunlight of day.

"Did you wander outside?"

Concern, yes. Interest, yes. No reprimand. No belittling. Just honest care and open discussion. How very refreshing an interaction between a man and a woman. Not very prominent an occurrence here in this day and this age. I loved them all the more.

"No, I didn't. I left."

A simple, direct response. Answered to him not out of duty, but companionship. Because he cared.

"I hate hospitals."

Smiling exhalations of amusement shared between them at her confidential revelation.

"You know, that's going to become a problem when you become a doctor."

Her quiet, lilting laughter floated up like graceful butterflies on a spring breeze. And his soul, brightening with every passing moment spent in her presence, glided along on the breezy updrafts of her delight. As did I, the silent, dreaming witness to their private rendezvous.

Ah, such natural, bantering exchanges in so grim and dreary place! The room lit with it, as delicate rays of warming sunbeams breaking through dull, grey, hopeless clouds.

"Don't make me laugh." A gentle, light reprimand. "Ow, that hurts."

The sound of her musical laughter tapered off though the breezes of cheerfulness did not diminish; only glided on toward the sleepers making them sigh contentedly deep within their dreamings. Would that he could close the distance between them, brush his lips to her, removing all her discomforts and replacing them with tendernesses. Surely he desired so.

"I apologize."

Only a brief nod to formality and decorum could he offer. His spirit slowly pulsated a brighter blue, awash in the sunlight of her cheerfulness. His entire being rejoiced and doted on her words, her smiles, her breath, her life. His dark blue aura even now gently caressed her alabaster form, light zephyrs of longing.

"Alexander. . ."

Ah, a name for him at last. And a good one as well. Intelligent. Strong. Princely, even. He, Alexander. The one who loved her most truly, most deeply.

"What is happening between us?"

* * *

**My husband teased me that I watched this scene a little too intently. Ah, I love him but what does he know? He's a _guy_. **

**Thanks to deelove1 and sbenton1 for your encouraging reviews.**


	5. Ripples of Dread

I do not own Dracula.

But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!

The Scent of Roses and Devotion

Chapter 5: Ripples of Dread

* * *

She could ask that question now. After all she had experienced the last several days, she was free to voice any query at all.

And after her exchange with the now infamous Lucy, nothing remained to hurt her. So she thought.

That terrible encounter rose once more, unbidden to me in my restless slumber.

"Lucy."

A pretty enough name, spoken fondly as to a dear friend, a confidante. But the essence to which that name was attached suffused a ghastly aura. Once light and airy, full of gaiety and frivolity. Now pocked with spreading swirls of darkening turmoil, forbidden desires, concealed iniquities.

This trembling feminine presence approached with quick, light steps. An exhalation of quiet dismay.

"What have they done to you? How could they?"

Horror for the misdeeds wrought up her in the bed. Distress over her weakened condition. And yet. A pervasive wrongness to the emotions oiling out of this one. Welling guilt and remorseful shame.

This one, this one had performed unspeakable acts in desperation and vengeance. The echoes of which now clawed away at her soul still, leaving it diminished, bleeding, sickly.

"I don't know. I'm still so confused."

The one in the bed. The sickness eating away at this Lucy had something to do with her.

"Mina . . ."

Very near to a whimper, that voice.

Exotic, expensive perfume recently misted, endeavoring to cover the stench of her lacerated, fetid soul, which had recently begun to rot.

That malodor. A familiar aroma. One I had smelled before. In this very room. From . . . him. Him with his weak eyes and inconstant spirit. The very same essence I now detected again.

And suddenly, suddenly I knew the story before she even knew she would speak it. And I knew that she would speak. This one, so wrought with grief and misery.

How could she?!

"Lucy . . ."

"Yes?"

Oh, to take back what she had done. To retrieve her sin and swallow it within her, never to be done or the desire of it revealed.

"You're sitting on my hand."

Light, brittle laughter from the ruined soul as she apologized for her artless err.

"I'm such an oaf."

Charlatan, sinner, betrayer, trollop! So many more titles I flung at her from with my storm cloud dreams. I threw flame, thunder, lightning, righteous destruction at her elegant, hollow form.

How could she?!

"They're beautiful."

The smell of flowers. Not the red of sweet roses. Those remained for he alone who truly loved her. This one offered up wildflowers, brought not in devotion and compassion but guilt, apology, and abject wretchedness. Their cloying smell was sickening.

"Positively decimated the garden." Another brittle laugh.

Yes, no doubt, wrenching the floras frantically from their life-giving earth. Desperate to find something worthy of her steadfast friend. Knowing that nothing could ever be, not after her unforgiveable betrayal. Tears of shame and guilt mixing in with the soil, transforming the garden into sorrowful cemeteries of her goodness and their friendship.

"Mother will have a fit."

Quiet, frail chuckles. Desperately seeking levity, wrapping her raw, brutalized soul in it. Drinking in the beauty and innocence of her friend while she still could. For ahead loomed a massive deadhead of finality, knowing that soon their companionship would be no more.

And then she broke. This destroyed woman groveling at the feet of her once dearest love, the one she had valued above all others.

"Mina, I'm so sorry."

Anguish, grief, misery flowed thick from her spirit into the room until I could no longer draw breath. Forced to breathe in her emotions like inhaling in wet, acidic wool. I would soon asphyxiate and perish.

"It's just that you're so smart and kind. I can't imagine anyone would ever want to hurt you."

Battling to maintain her thin composure. She would fail. It was inevitable. And Miss Mina Murray. She was as of yet unaware of the coming revelation. She knew not that her world as she knew it was on verge of collapse; it was going to change forever.

I ached for her. It would hurt her so much. And I, imprisoned in my drifting dreams, could not save her. I could only watch and pray that her soul would not be torn forever asunder.

"It breaks my heart that there are people in the world who would . . ."

Speaking so fast, the horrid truth nipping at her heels, like an ugly, squat dog of malice. Attempting to distract it and herself with the sins of others. But to no avail. It took all her breath to run from her grievous sins and so there was none left for prattling speech. She abandoned words for breath while she still could before the fall.

"Who would what?"

A sneaking suspicion rising out of the dark waters of Miss Murray's heart. She did not quite catch a glimpse of it, but rather felt the ripple in her mind. She knew this treacherous girl well enough to recognize misadventure, misbehavior, something amiss or newly born, in her countenance, her posture. Surely she must also feel the thick sickness of her regret and shame. It was slowly suffocating me as I lay undefended in my bed.

"Deliberately . . ."

Breathe caught in her throat. The clenching of her heart. Oh that it would finally shatter that she might die here and now and be spared the shame of this inescapable moment. It did not and she was forced to continue down this dark path ever further into Hell. Struggling to internalize her anguish, contain it within herself, so that her friend may not be subjected to its monstrosity.

"They're beautiful."

No. she did not deserve not to gaze upon them. That they might be poisoned with the sickness radiating out of her soul. But to rest her gaze upon the one in the bed hurt ever more with each passing moment.

* * *

**Alright, deelove1, you asked for it! Here's a part one. :)**


	6. Bitter Disintegration

I do not own Dracula.

But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!

Scent of Roses and Devotion

Chapter 6: Bitter Disintegration

* * *

"Jonathan?"

Oh, the carefulness of those spoken syllables. So it had been him. And her. Together they had destroyed themselves and this good woman in the bed.

"No, no. I haven't seen him since . . ."

Yes, the inconstant man. He had only shown himself that once as she had first awoken. Then departed, no more to return. Unlike he who truly loved her, arriving every eve as devoutly as a monastic to worship.

"Something happen to him?"

Ah, that would be a gentle kindness. Laid low with a devastating illness or perhaps run down by a careening carriage. Better than this blatant, unexplained absence in the face of her misfortune.

"No, no. I mean, not that I know of."

Ah, yes, but she did know. She knew and she would tell and it was unavoidable. She was not strong enough to carry the weight of her sins within her no matter how much she may wish. Her weak spirit with its ill, flickering aura. It was too weak and inconstant now. No, she would disintegrate and her depravities be loosened upon this innocent one in the bed.

"Lucy. . ."

Speaking as a stern nursemaid to a guilty child that has absconded with a family heirloom on an evil whim.

"Tell me the truth."

And the monstrous suspicion in the depths of her heart began to circle closer to her as she tread in those dark, murky waters. She could not see it fully, but felt it rising up, ready to devour her.

"You must forget about Jonathan."

This Lucy was struggling, flailing to maintain her decorum and control. She could not bear to watch her friend continue on in a lie. Even though it would cost her everything in the end.

"What?"

Fear now rising. The monster grew closer, readying itself to consume her. Her who had done nothing to deserve this fate.

"Please don't ask me any questions."

The creature of her sin, squirming in her chest, gnawing at her heart, lapping at the blood of her grief.

"You just have to know he's not the man you think he is."

It was clawing its way out of her, this monstrous revelation, threatening to lay bare her rotting soul.

"You must call off the engagement."

A beg, a plea. So that she may not attach herself to this inconstant man and bear a lie not of her creation.

"But that's . . . that's . . . that's insane! I, I, I can't do that!"

Did a quiet part of her want to? So that she may live free and unsullied by his inconstant presence. So that she may consider an existence with someone else?

"You must."

Pleading, begging. While the monster bore its way out of her heart and through her chest, consuming the last vestiges of resolve as it went.

"Why? What has he done?"

That inconstant, weak-eyed man. With jealousy and petulance, he had dug the pit of his own desolation. And in it, now he must lay. Courted by the worms and maggots of remorse and shame. As she did, this Lucy. Left to writhe alone in misery, lamenting the obliteration of the light of goodness.

"He . . . I can't . . ."

The monster swam ever closer, revealing bits of gruesome, infected hide. She thought she saw its face but turned away, clinging to her loyalty and beliefs that this could never happen. Not this. Not possibly be.

"Lucy, don't be ridiculous! Just tell me!"

Avoiding the monster's face, refusing to believe that it could be this. This unforgivable deed. No.

"You're going to hate me."

Whispered abject terror. Death would be a welcome reprieve from this enduring misery. But Death abandoned her to her fate.

"I'm so sorry, Mina."

And she was. Waves of regret poured over her, washing her in sickly, putrid greed. And did not diminish her sin.

This sin which now rose fully and consumed Mina Murray in a gaping, reeking maw of disgust and realization.

"I'm so s . . . "

Wishing to prostrate herself and beg forgiveness. To absolved of her transgression. Knowing it would not come to pass.

"Don't."

No forgiveness. No mercy. No absolution. Only absolute, righteous rejection and utter banishment.

"Look, but . . ."

A final, desperate plea.

"Get out!"

She screamed it again and again. Louder and louder, in anguish and revulsion until her tormentor fled her fury. She thrashed to be free of the beast consuming her. She inwardly fought and cursed it. She struggled to the shoreline of the dark well pool in her soul and lay gasping for life-giving air, for light.

I tried to reach out to her but my infirm mind and body betrayed me and I lay still, unmoving, unspeaking. Helpless to comfort her left all alone with her pain. And she was alone.

And so she left. She rose and took leave of this place without a word, without a whisper. I yearned to accompany her, a silent specter, a ghostly companion, an insubstantial supporter. To keep watch over her so that she may not wander alone.

But I could not. I could only pray for her safety on her dark journey as I floated sorrowfully in my dim, formless void.

* * *

**Alright, sweetie, I hope did this properly for you.**

**Last chapter coming up! And this time, I mean it. ;winks;**


	7. The Winter of Hope

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!

Scent of Roses and Words of Devotion

Chapter 7: The Winter of Hope

* * *

"What is happening between us?"

This question she had earned throughout the flames of her continuing ordeal. The question that had been floating in queue above her head all this time. Awaiting the opportune moment to present itself. Abiding patiently, as he had for her. For her to rouse. For her to smile. For her to live. For her to love him. Even if she shouldn't.

And now here it was, insisting to be heard, acknowledged, answered. And he, he was caught unprepared and unawares.

"I don't know. All I can say is . . ."

And then he didn't. Instead, he breathed deeply, emptying the room of our precious life sustaining air. I gladly relinquished mine to him so that he might profess that which he had so long harbored. His lingering words drifted into the air and floated out to brush at her face with gentle caresses.

"Please. Please go on," her delicate voice pleading, coercing him to reveal his innermost hidden self. She needed it so badly.

Was he taking a moment to deny his true voice? The voice the deepest parts of her would know. The voice she would recognize spoken with his deepest confessions to her in her sleep. In what voice shall he speak?

That full heart of love, pouring in waves out of his eyes. His smooth, silky tongue robbed of its speech. Stolen away in hesitation, fear, dread. Apprehensive to break free of the confines of his cracking shell of propriety.

Her need clutched at him, pulled him, reluctantly and fearfully, out the crumbling shell of his heart. Halting, yearning for the sunlight of her acceptance.

"You remind me of somebody I used to love. Her name was Ilona."

Oh, that name. Spoken with such tenderness and reverence.

"I know her."

Realization dawned in the sky of her mind, brightening her countenance in the light of understanding.

"I have dreamed of her since I was a little girl."

The intensity of his gaze was not something I could see in my slumber, but something I could feel. It radiated exquisite longing throughout the slumbering room. Desperately imploring her to know the truth. Afraid of what it would do to her. All the roiling emotions very nearly drowned me in my narrow hospital bed.

"She looks like me."

A touch of sweet childish delight and pride from her. Soaring emotions from him. His entire being flooded with a rush of happiness and warmth until I worried he would drown in it or burst. I imagined his eyes glittering with the intensity of this moment. Though he tried to maintain his composure, this new revelation was crumbling his carefully constructed barricades.

"I saw her tonight. I saw her in a reflection in a puddle. She reached out to me as if she were going to . . ."

Intensifying anxiety, apparent in her rising voice. Twanging nerve endings resounded across the room, vibrating the shimmering outlines of my dreams. He shushed her gently, kindly, lovingly. Wanting so badly to reach out for her, wrap her protectively in his strong embrace. Restraining himself for the sake of decorum.

"I'm here. I'm right here."

Powerful devotion and passionate love radiating out to quell her fears. He would not abandon her while she yet needed him. Tender care beyond the boundaries of propriety. And it did comfort her. The edges of her soul and my dreams softened once more.

"Do you love me?"

Thundering realization that he had been caught with his truth in his eyes. Calling out to her, beckoning her. The dread crashed across the room, deafening me almost completely.

"Don't ask me that."

A hushed, desperate whisper.

"Tell me."

A quiet, calm demand. But a demand nevertheless.

"I can't."

He denied her ownership of his heart though she possessed it anyway. He denied her the words she longed to hear him speak.

"I have something I have to finish. And until I do, I cannot move forward."

I almost stirred out of my fitful reveries. What could possibly hold more importance for him than her love?

"The Resonator."

She spoke of it as if it were another woman. Stealing away his devotion and attentions. And the springtime in her heart began to wilt in the face of oncoming winter.

"Yes. That's only the smallest part. I owe that someone I used to love a terrible debt."

His anguish, thick and black, eradicated the earlier mirth. Murdered it in the craving of vengeance.

"And until it's paid, _in_ _full_,. . .

Hesitant regret thickened his voice, squeezing his heart, until he could only whisper his apology.

". . . I can't."

And so it was the spring buds of hope began to wilt with the frost.

"Besides, you love Harker."

Cold winds of resignation and resentment rattled in the name he uttered. Her entire being recoiled. I gnashed my phantom teeth in storm cloud dreams once more.

"No. That's finished. Never again."

A heavy spade of absolute finality stamped flat the interment of that association. Stabbed the earth with its cold metal edge and marched away without looking back.

"Why?"

He who loved her truly spoke with concern for her wellbeing. Nothing for the weak-eyed Harker, the man whom no one truly loved. I could almost feel sorrow for his isolation. If not for the atrocities he had committed.

The lady's spirit languished in shame and she could not speak for a long moment. I felt her sorrow, like salty, bitter tears tainting my blood. The recently revealed dual betrayal had burned her spirit as drops of acid to tender, living flesh. Her beloved suitor waited patiently for her.

"Well, he . . . he and Lucy . . ."

Humiliation overwhelmed her so that she surely could not bear to look at him. Him with his devoted soul on full display.

"Lucy?"

A moment of bewilderment followed by utter derision discolored the room. As if this Lucy could ever compare to his angel who reclined now before him. Transmuting into fervid disgust of the vile treachery.

"How could she?"

Clearing now. Attending once more to his most immediate concern. The care and concern for her whom he truly loved.

"Mina . . ."

Propriety forsaken in the intensity of her grief. Reaching for her now. To comfort, console.

"No, don't, don't . . ."

She would not, could not suffer pity. Least of all from him. He reached out for her. She withdrew, her damaged heart flinching away from him like an injured creature.

"Can you please go? I am . . . I. . . I . . . I need to be alone right now."

Winter's chill cut through their warm moment, rending it as a tattered cloth in the bitter wind. Tearing them apart. Even now in his love and devotion, he showed his respect for her wishes. No argument or insistence of his needs over her own. He simply abided by her request and withdrew from her presence in sorrow and rage at her misfortune.

He left in his wake his dripping heart in the beautiful red roses that remained. And as he withdrew, his footsteps quickened as if embarking on an important mission that must be attended to immediately.

Sometime later, as Miss Mina Murray slept, he who truly loved her returned with a rose. He made no sound, only drifted in on zephyrs of silent, enduring love. Disturbing her not at all, he only placed a last rose with the others and departed.

A silent declaration. I am still here for you. And yes, I love you.

Four roses in all.

No matter her tumultuous feelings now, she would take them with her when she took leave of this place. She would take his love and carry it with her.

I sigh deeply in my fitful sleep. Would that I one day might be loved so much, so deeply. One day.

* * *

**Many, many thanks to deelove1 for your continuing reviews. Aren't you a doll?!**

**Would you believe this was originally going to be a one-shot? Ha. Guess I'm a bit loquacious, yeah? Hope you readers enjoyed it. Or whatever word fits for a telling such as this.**

**In the future, after I've taken a break to write some unrelated fluff (these chapters were emotionally _exhausting_) I plan on writing again for Dracula. This time focusing exclusively on the character of Vlad/Dracula/Alexander. Interested? PM me if you like and we'll talk.**


End file.
